


La Fleur de la Jeunesse

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, M/M, Shota
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sinbad and Ja'far pick up a confused, powerful young boy, neither of them know how it will change their lives--and how soon.</p><p>AU: non-Al-Sarmen Judal</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Fleur de la Jeunesse

Judal is doing well.

At least, Sinbad  _thinks_  he’s doing well. It’s kind of hard to tell, with children. He’s good with children, always was, back home in the place he doesn’t like to talk about. Whether he liked being the one to watch the kids or not, they’d always flocked to him, and Judal is no different. 

Of course, it’s a bit different in the way that he hangs upside down in the air half the time, has hair that would float to the ground if he let it, and summoned a dungeon right in front of them just to show off.

 

But those are little differences, that honestly make little difference in how Sinbad sees him. He’s a kid, with those big wide eyes that follow Sinbad all around whatever room he’s in, and the lightning-bright smile he wears not nearly enough for Sinbad’s taste. There’s a sadness there, but he’d expected that from a kid they’d found on the side of the road, collapsed from dehydration with old bruises and dried blood on his arms and face. Sinbad doubts he was a slave, not with how recent everything looked, and certainly not when Judal wasn’t at all shy to trust him, to take his food, and within a day was climbing all over him.

The road to Laem is a long one, but it had become pretty obvious in the last year or so that no matter how much Sinbad and Ja’far know about magic, Judal needs to know a lot more, if he’s going to be able to come back to Sindria and not blow it up. Sindria—it’s a good name, and Sinbad can’t wait to tell all the people back in the villages under his protection that he’s come up with a name for them at last. When they get home, of course. For now, Judal needs him.

The road is too long to travel all in one go, so they stop to camp with a few caravans, one of them headed into a big city for the night. Almost helplessly, Sinbad endures a lecture from Ja’far and the beginning of a tantrum from Judal before slipping out, relieved to be  _alone_  for once. Ja’far is good company, speaking when he’s spoken to but never chattering just to hear the sound of his own voice, but between his more-than-occasional cold spells and Judal’s fiery temper…

Any man would seek out a brothel on a night like this, Sinbad tells himself.

It’s quiet in the city, somewhere in the nebulous time between midnight and dawn before he makes his way back to the guest house one of his new friends had lent them. He’d jumped in a reasonably clean horse trough an hour or so ago, but he doesn’t doubt that he still smells a bit of wine and perfume no matter how he’s washed and dried. Ja’far is folded up neatly in the corner of the front room, and Sinbad winces at the idea of resting his sore muscles on a pallet on the floor. He creeps quietly into the back of the house, rolling Judal’s sprawled form to the side and stretching out on the only real bed, sighing as he closes his eyes.

Sometimes, a man just needs relief.

Judal’s a heavy sleeper, but more importantly, Sinbad is big and warm and  _there_  and he wants closer the moment he realizes it. He stirs, mumbling, shifting, eventually rolling himself to the side and in one swift movement, latches himself to Sinbad with his face buried firmly into his neck. 

His nose wrinkles almost immediately. “You smell like bad perfume.” More than likely, it’s an echo of something Ja’far has grumbled in the past, because he doesn’t mind  _that_  much. Judal much prefers the way Sinbad smells every other time, though, not when he’s gone out to that place with a lot of naked women. Why Sinbad won’t just stay here and play with him instead is something he doesn’t quite understand.

Sinbad snorts at hearing Ja’far’s words come out of Judal’s mouth. He wriggles around a bit until they’re more comfortable, fitted together with Judal clamped onto him like the affectionate little barnacle he’s been lately. Sinbad would mind it more if it weren’t so damned  _cute_ , and really, it’s not like it’s not comfortable. Judal’s always curling around him, to the point that Sinbad gets cold in his sleep if he tries to sleep alone. “What do you know about good perfume and bad perfume? You’re a kid.”

Ugh. There’s  _that_  again.

“I know enough.” He knows the difference between what Sinbad comes back smelling like and what he tries to wheedle into making Ja’far try on sometimes, no matter the other boy’s protests and exasperation. “And I’m not a  _kid_.”

“Hmph.” Out of habit, Sinbad undoes the last couple sections of Judal’s hair, the ones that tend to get a little ragged at the edges, fingercombing them gently. “What do you care what I smell like?”

“I like it when you smell like  _you_.” Judal’s lip juts in a pout, and he wriggles himself even closer, plastering himself against Sinbad’s chest as he slings a leg over one hip. “You didn’t  _have_  to go out, you know.”

One corner of Sinbad’s lips curve up in a lazy half-grin. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” he promises. Her name was Serena, and her friend’s name was Adele, and neither of them had wanted anything from him but the coin in his hand and the fact that he’s a lot of fun and doesn’t like to hit. “You’ll be begging me to come with me, soon enough. I’d take you now, but Ja’far says you’re too young.”

Judal is fairly certain he won’t understand. 

Women are pretty to look at and all, but there’s nothing  _appealing_ about their softness. Far better are Sinbad’s hard, lean muscles, the musky, masculine scent of him, the way his hands are broad and rough with callouses… 

“I don’t want to go.” Judal shivers, nuzzling his face into Sinbad’s neck. “Why couldn’t you stay with me instead? I could be just as fun.”

Judal is so cute when he’s put-out. Sinbad re-braids the end of his hair, tying it securely before relaxing back, folding his hands behind his head. “You know I like playing with you, but this is a grown-up kind of fun. Uh…ask Ja’far about it, he says I’m not allowed to tell you.”

“I know what kind of fun it is.” 

Another roll, and Judal simply plops himself on top of Sinbad, straddling his hips as he peers down at him. “I’m not stupid. You should listen to Ja’far more,  _he_  knows I know what I’m talking about.”

Suddenly, the comforting closeness of Judal is a bit less comforting and a bit more  _really close_ , with certain proportions lining up in a way that Sinbad certainly hadn’t intended. Slowly, he reaches down, picking Judal up by the waist and setting him down on the bed as he sits up. “You do? Who told you about that kind of stuff?”

Judal hisses rather like a cat, swatting at Sinbad’s hands and squirming away with a deep pout as he finds himself back on the bed again instead of close to Sinbad like he wants. “I just know, okay? And I…” He huffs, looking to the side to bite his lip before looking back up all the more earnestly. “Even if I’m not as good as those girls at first, you can teach me. I’ll learn really fast, I promise!”

Sinbad doesn’t want to know what Ja’far would say, if he could hear something like this. He doesn’t want to know, but he can imagine all too well, and words like  _molester_  and  _child-toucher_  spring far too readily to mind for his liking. Not that he hasn’t bedded girls as young as Judal, but…well, they were girls, old enough to marry, old enough to be whores, and for the most part he’d been quite a bit younger at the time. 

And they hadn’t been Judal. They hadn’t looked up at him with those big earnest eyes, hadn’t looked up to him like he fancies the boy does. He can’t deny that Judal is pretty, with those soft pink lips and dark, dark eyes, with his smooth skin and masses of long dark hair, but—

Sinbad swallows hard. “It’s not the kind of thing you can do with two men,” he lies. “That’s why I go out with girls. You don’t have the right parts, it’s nothing against you.”

“You’re lying.”

Judal’s head tilts, and his pout simply turns to a frown. “You do it with Ja’far sometimes.” Maybe it’s not a matter of his age, or that he’s a boy. Maybe he just doesn’t  _want_  to. That’s worrisome. 

“That’s—”

Damn, he’d thought they’d been more discreet than that. Certainly it hasn’t been  _often_ , probably all of twice since they’d picked the boy up on their travels in the East. “That’s kind of  _different_ ,” he says helplessly. “And Ja’far is older than you.”

“How is it different? And he’s not much older.” Well—he supposes Ja’far is a bit older, something like 18, if Judal remembers correctly. But he’s certainly not  _that_  much taller, or bigger, or anything. In a lot of ways, he’s skinnier than Judal is, and definitely doesn’t look like a woman. Then, a thought occurs to him. “Is it because of that jewelry he wears?” Judal asks, leaning in a little closer. “I’d let you do something like that to me, if you wanted to. It doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” 

Sinbad’s breath hitches, just a bit, at the thought. Would Judal make the same little noises, the squeaks and pants and—

Damn it, Ja’far is right, he thinks  _far_  too much with parts of his anatomy that aren’t on top of his shoulders. 

“You want to do it with a girl first,” he manages, just barely. “Everyone likes doing it with a girl, girls are squishy and smell good.”

Judal’s nose wrinkles. “But I don’t like it when they’re squishy. I like the way you feel. You’re warm and hard and strong,” he says, reaching out to lay a hand against Sinbad’s chest. “And I like the way you smell, when you  _don’t_  smell like girls.” 

Maybe if Sinbad can get to the bottom of this, he’ll be able to sway Judal’s opinion, convince him somehow. He cups Judal’s chin, turning his face up (pretty pretty face) to look at him. “What do you think about?” he asks gently. No reason to give the boy cause to think it’s unnatural or disgusting, after all. If he’s really that fond of men, the world will give him plenty of reason to think that soon enough without Sinbad’s help. “When you think about…those kind of games.”

Judal’s lips part with a soft, eager little exhale. Maybe, just  _maybe_ , Sinbad does like him. If he’s asking, then that’s a start, isn’t it? “… You,” he admits, his skin flushing even as he tips his head down to nuzzle it against Sinbad’s hand. “Just you. Like—how strong you are, and how big your hands are… I like it when you just pick me up like it’s so  _easy,_ and if you did that, and maybe pushed me d-down into things, too…” 

Judal is so affectionate, so loving, so  _sweet_  for all his tantrums. Sinbad smiles, picking Judal up again and settling him on his lap sideways. Just to make sure he knows there’s no reason to be upset, he tells himself. Certainly not because he likes giving in to Judal, likes the warm weight of him (more weight than Ja’far already) on his lap, or because that makes it so easy to nuzzle into his hair. “Did you see me push Ja’far down into something? Is that why you’re asking?” Where does the boy come up with this stuff, anyway?

Judal snorts at that, and he squirms his way closer, burying himself against Sinbad’s chest as his arms loop around his neck. “He always _knows_  if I’m watching, so I don’t try. But I’ve seen you do it with girls, sometimes, and they always seem to like it. That, and I’ve got a good imagination. Ja’far said so.” He didn’t sound too happy about it when he said it, though.

“Yeah?” Sinbad murmurs, resting a hand on Judal’s back to keep him close, fingers splaying out. Judal has grown since Sinbad had picked him up, grown substantially; he’s right, he  _is_  taller than Ja’far now, and broader, even if it’s still a slinky grace he has instead of a slight, willowy one, or instead of a more traditional masculinity. “So you want me to push you down? That all?”

Something deep inside tells him he’s playing a dangerous game.  _Shut up_ , he tells it.  _I’m just trying to find out where this is coming from, and what he really wants._

It doesn’t believe him.

 _Saying it_  is a lot different than  _thinking it_.

Judal shivers, and he squirms again, shifting to throw his legs properly over Sinbad’s hips and straddle him rather than simply sprawl over his lap. “I wanna do whatever it is you do with Ja’far,” he bluntly settles for. “You can push me down into things, or play with my chest or… I know you put it in, sometimes.” He flushes at the thought, and his forehead drops against Sinbad’s shoulder. “That would be… good.”

This time, Sinbad is a lot slower to try and push Judal away—and he doesn’t push very hard, more urging Judal back a few inches. “I,” he starts, and has to stop to clear his throat. He has a few choice words for _himself_  now, and Ja’far’s are just the tip of the iceberg.

Some other little voice reminds Sinbad that he was younger himself, that he’d  _certainly_  known what he liked by Judal’s age, that he’s not thinking about  _hurting_  the boy…

He clears his throat again. “You know it…” Ah god, what is he about to say? “You know it can hurt sometimes. I’m an awful lot bigger than you. I’m…maybe you should wait for a few years.”

“But I don’t  _want_  to wait!” Judal protests, and he’s quick to wriggle his way back close— _closer_ , even, with his hands grabbing for Sinbad’s shoulders to keep himself there. “You’re an awful lot bigger than Ja’far, too, so you can’t use that excuse. And even if it hurts, I can take it.” His lower lip trembles, just a bit. “Besides, you won’t let it hurt for long, I know it. You’ve always taken care of me.”

Sinbad is fairly certain that there are men in the world who aren’t tempted by just about everything. He wonders, sometimes, what it would be like to be one of them. 

He draws in a deep breath. Time to give him a last chance. He’s only human, after all. Slowly, he leans close, running a hand down Judal’s chest and belly, hovering for a second before brushing lower. “You understand that I’d be touching you here, right? If that scares you, you can leave.”

Far from wanting to leave, Judal  _shivers,_ his hands pawing at Sinbad’s hair as he squirms and clutches tight. “I know,” he breathes, and he nudges his nose into Sinbad’s neck. “It doesn’t scare me, it’s  _you_.” 

A few scattered remnants of protests hover on Sinbad’s lips. He doesn’t want Judal to do this because he’s worried Sinbad will get sick of him, he doesn’t want to scare him, he doesn’t want—

He  _does_  want to know what it would feel like to have Judal squirming against him without all their clothes in the way. Certain parts of him want to know that very badly indeed.

Slowly, he eases his robes off his shoulders, gathering Judal more firmly onto his lap. “This is…a very big thing,” he says, trying not to let his breath hitch quite so much. “If you want to stop, any time, that’s okay.”

“You  _talk_  a lot,” Judal grumbles, and his hands tighten in Sinbad’s hair as he nuzzles closer, sighing at the way his legs splay over the other man’s lap, a little too wide to be wholly comfortable. His lips part, and his teeth gently catch on the hoop of one earring, an experimental tug to follow. “You don’t talk so much with everyone  _else.”_

It’s hard to be very responsible for very long.

Judal is straddling him like one of the brothel girls, gently chiding and using his  _teeth_  like one of them, and a big chunk of that hesitant worry evaporates. He grins, hands on Judal’s waist, and picks him up just to dump him on his back, looming over him. “You want me to push you down into things, hmm?” 

He bends his head, pushing up the little shirt the boy wears, and flicks over a pert pink nipple with his tongue. “You want me to play with your chest?”

His breath leaves him in a rush. Now that he’s  _here_ , flat on his back with Sinbad over him, as strong and insistent and so much  _bigger_ , just like he’s always been, it’s a little hard to think. Judal manages a quick, eager little nod, his hands grabbing for purchase again, wrapping up in Sinbad’s hair as he arches up with a mindless sound— _liking_  the wet, warm slickness of Sinbad’s mouth on his chest even than he thought he would. “S… sorry I don’t have anything—but I meant it, about the jewelry, if you wanted—”

Briefly, Sinbad wonders what Ja’far would think if he pierced Judal’s nipples, not for some old village tradition, but to enjoy  _playing_  with the boy that much more, sitting him on his lap and teasing the little rings until he squirmed and begged and…

“Maybe,” he breathes, and bites gently, tugging with his teeth as his other hand comes up to rub, softly pinching. “It’d feel like that, but a lot more.”

The squeak that escapes turns to a mewl in short order, and Judal  _does_ think to lift a hand, biting into his own knuckles with a hard shudder. His eyes flutter hard, and oh, that feels  _good_. There’s an edge to it that just Sinbad’s mouth doesn’t bring, and it makes him squirm, makes heat pool hot and low in his belly, and makes his hips lurch up on their own accord, wanting something to rub against as his thighs splay. “Good,” he whispers around his own hand. “Do it again.” 

There’s something so brutally honest about Judal, and it translates into his actions, his  _reactions_ , making every little squirm and shiver go straight to Sinbad’s cock. He pinches harder, sucking and running his tongue over the little nub, tugging again as he murmurs, “Do you do this to yourself? At night, when you think we can’t hear you?”

He’s a growing boy, of  _course_  Sinbad has heard him at night, sometimes turning away to stifle his heavy breathing into a pillow, but he’s never thought anything of it before. Now, the idea makes him burn.

Every little pinch and bite goes straight to his cock now, and Judal can’t remember a time that he’s been this hard. He nods frantically, biting down harder into his hand as his breath escapes hot and fast from his nose. “I…” He  _has_  to drop his hand away to really breathe, chest heaving as he fills his lungs. “I wanted… you to do it, though.” 

Sinbad gives him a last hard suck, then pulls back onto his knees, letting himself  _enjoy_  the sight sprawled out below him. “What else do you do?” he breathes, a hand stealing down to squeeze himself through his pants, just to alleviate a little of that tension snaking up his spine. “Show me. I want to see you. Just for a minute, then I’ll touch you again.”

Judal’s face flushes at that, no matter how a hand already snakes southward. It’s not fair, because he just wants  _Sinbad_  to touch him now. The touch of his hands is a lot better, a lot nicer, and his mouth is even better, especially when he bites…

The thought makes him shiver, and he squirms, letting his pants slink down his hips as his fingertips slide over one lean hip and even further down, dragging between his legs to palm his cock. He whines, then, low and desperate, and his fingers tremble as he wraps them around himself for a slow squeeze. 

Ten seconds is close enough to  _just a minute_  for Sinbad.

In a flash, he covers Judal’s body with his own, sliding a big hand down to cover Judal’s, feeling the pulse and swell of his hard cock. That goes a long way to assuage what lingering guilt he’d felt; it’s not a child’s body he’s touching, and soft curls brush against his hand at the base as he drags his fingers up over soft, soft skin. He latches his mouth onto Judal’s neck, murmuring, “Good, you look so good…”

God, that’s nearly enough on its own.

The press of Sinbad’s body, the slide of his hand, so much  _bigger_  than is—Judal whimpers, hissing out a breath through his teeth as his pulse jumps underneath Sinbad’s tongue and he lurches up, panting as his legs spread wider and all he can think of is rutting against Sinbad’s hand. It’s  _nothing_  like touching himself. Someone else’s hand there is so much better, so much warmer and stronger and he can feel every little callous along Sinbad’s fingers with every little squeeze—

He jerks, gasping as he suddenly comes, his heart pounding and body arching, and he  _knows_  he’s never come harder in his life, with each shock making his legs twitch, his toes curl, and more mindless, helpless little sounds pull from his throat unhindered.

With that, Sinbad is lost. He’ll never be able to stop now, never be able to go back to being a big brother to the kid, not now that he knows how sweet those little noises are, knows the sudden, startling heat of him against his hand, and his eyes are dark as he brings his palm to his mouth, flicking out his tongue for just a  _taste_ , just to know it’s real and dark and the kind of wrong that makes him so, so hard. 

He takes one of those soft little hands in his own, guiding it down between his legs. “Touch me, come on, I know you want to.”

Judal’s fingers are still trembling and unsteady but so, so eager as they paw at Sinbad’s pants, tugging at them so his hand can slide over the hard length of Sinbad’s cock, and he shudders, biting his lip as he tries to curl his fingers properly around it. “It’s…” He swallows hard, and his cock twitches, the sensation almost painful, from how recently he’s spilled. “I-it’s a lot bigger than mine.” Suddenly, the idea of it being inside him  _is_  a little scary, but in a way, that makes it that much more alluring. “Are you… don’t you want to put it in?” he asks, licking his lips as he  _squeezes_. 

Every word that comes out of Judal’s mouth makes Sinbad ache, rutting forward into his hand with short, urgent little thrusts. “In a minute,” he promises, grabbing at Judal’s shoulders, burying his nose in the boy’s hair and inhaling deeply. “Just—if I don’t first—want your first time to last more than ten seconds,” he ends on a groan.  _Plus, there’s no way I’m in control enough to be gentle right now._  “Finish me off, and I’ll put it in you really soon.” Even saying it makes him twitch.

He likes the sound of that. He really does, especially when coupled with how eager Sinbad is, all because of  _him_. Judal nods, shutting his eyes with a ragged little breath, and his fingers grasp tighter—as much as he can manage, at any rate, all to slide up to the head of Sinbad’s cock that leaks all over his fingers, and makes the slide down that much slicker and easier. He really is  _big_ —thick and heavy in his hand, and the thought of that going inside of him, stretching him wider than he’s  _ever_ dared to try himself with just a finger… Judal swallows hard, shivering as he buries his own face into Sinbad’s shoulder.

Sinbad should probably feel like a lecher with how he paws at the boy, rutting forward into that soft hand as it works him better than it should be able to, breathing hard and fast against Judal’s neck. “Just like that,” he breathes, hands dragging up and down Judal’s sides, filling his hands with smooth,  _untouched_  flesh, squeezing and pinching and rubbing and it’s all too  _good_.

He shuts his eyes as he comes, spilling over Judal’s hand with a jerk of his hips, kind of  _liking_  the way one of Judal’s hands doesn’t reach all the way around his cock. He reaches down, catching the boy’s wrist and bringing it up between them, eyes glinting. “Taste it,” he urges, pulse skipping at just the thought.

Judal’s pulse is already racing, and this makes it jump, makes his breath come even faster and harder as he parts his lips to suck one of his fingers into his mouth with a high, breathy noise. His brow knits, his eyes flutter, the taste odd and bitter and musky, but it’s  _Sinbad_ , and that makes him moan. He squirms, and lets that finger slide free from his mouth with a wet pop, tongue sucking another into his mouth shortly after, and he shivers as he opens his eyes to look up, pleading through his lashes. 

At this rate, Sinbad is going to be hard again in a matter of seconds. He groans, having to shut his eyes for a moment, the sight coupled with the warm wet tongue on his fingers just  _too much_ , and he sits back, shedding the rest of his clothes before gathering the boy onto his lap. “I don’t have to put it in you today,” he says, voice a bit hoarse, breath coming too fast. He strokes down a smooth thigh with one hand, the other moving up and down Judal’s back. “There are lots of things we can do that won’t hurt at all.”

_But if you keep sucking on my fingers I’m going to shove my cock in your mouth._

Judal groans, and his hands grab tight to Sinbad’s wrist, not letting him pull that hand away as he greedily sucks on another finger, nibbling at the tip of it as he draws his head back with a panting exhale. “Why can’t we do all of it?” he rasps, eyes dark as he peers up through his bangs, lips swollen from his own biting and just sucking on Sinbad’s fingers for that long. “I like the way you taste, too.” 

A twinge of conscience goes through Sinbad at that—Judal is so  _cute_ , a bitty little thing that he lets ride on his shoulders when he gets tired of walking or floating on long days. But…

He leans down, brushing a real kiss across Judal’s swollen lips. “We will.” It’s a promise, and as long as Judal looks at him like  _that_ , it’s one he intends to keep. “We don’t just have tonight, you know.” One of his hands steals a little lower, squeezing the firm flesh of Judal’s ass, and he lets out a pleased little exhale. His cock stirs, even as it protests that he’s just a  _little_  too early.

Oh. Oh, that’s a nice thing to hear, that Sinbad likes this enough to want to do it again, and Judal excitedly wriggles closer, shivering and arching his back at the squeeze of that hand. “I definitely want you inside me, though,” he breathes, and he grabs for Sinbad’s hair again, lurching up to kiss him again, breath coming faster at how  _nice_  that feels. “Really want it. So please—”

Judal’s lips are hypnotic, as bad as his eyes, and Sinbad loses himself for a few blissful minutes, nibbling and sucking at the full lower lip, harder until they’re shiny and bruised when he pulls away. His cock twitches again, half-hard, and his thumb edges closer, rubbing slightly over that tight little hole. “You know this is where it goes, yeah?” he asks, more breathless than he wants to be. He’s never had much of a thing for virgins, but somehow, with Judal it’s  _different_.

Judal jerks a bit, nodding with an anxious little squirm as his legs splay wider over Sinbad’s lap. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, face hot as he buries it into the man’s neck. “I… I’ve tried, once or twice before. Just with a finger, though…” He bites his lip, worrying it, sort of entranced by how swollen it is. “That’s not nearly as much as you.”

That mental image is enough to last Sinbad a week of cold nights, and he groans, pulling Judal closer, close enough that his cock rubs against Judal’s, and he has to take a second just from that contact alone. “Did you like that?” he asks, one hand fumbling behind him, grabbing a little jar out of one of his travelbags, slicking up his fingers without an ounce of shame. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it  _right_.

And he  _is_  going to do this. The way Judal is wriggling on his lap makes that a foregone conclusion.

Judal huffs into Sinbad’s neck, clinging tightly to his shoulders. “It wasn’t… really enough. I kept thinking of you, though, so that made it good.” 

That’s a better response than  _it felt weird_  or  _it kind of hurt_.  _It wasn’t enough_  is something Sinbad can work with, that’s for sure.

A slick finger trails down the cleft of Judal’s ass, fingertip teasing slowly around the hole. Sinbad watches Judal’s face as he slides it in, less to pretend like he could stop if Judal didn’t like it, more because he’s getting drunk off of those expressions. “I’ll give you enough,” he promises. “More than enough. I’ll fill you up until you can’t take anymore.”

Even Sinbad’s  _finger_  is more. Of course it would be—his hands are so much bigger, and it makes Judal suck in a fast, harsh breath, thighs trembling as they spread wider over Sinbad’s lap. “I… g-good,” he pants, his eyes squeezing shut. It’s better when it’s so much  _slicker_  like this, too. Spit is one thing, whatever Sinbad pulled from his bags is  _better_ , and Judal can’t help but wriggle down, just a bit, a high, mindless whine pulling from his throat. “That’s… I always think about that.”

“I bet you do,” Sinbad murmurs. He can see it now in Judal’s eyes, now that he’s looking for it—that  _need_ , that raw hunger, something he’d never have looked for in someone so young, but ah, he’s glad he sees it now. He adds another finger—probably too fast for someone’s first time, but he has a feeling Judal likes it that way. “I bet you can take all of it.” His voice lowers to something like a purr as he says in Judal’s ear, “I want to be inside you when you come.”

 _That_  makes his cock jump, and he ruts forward helplessly, whimpering as he twists down against Sinbad’s fingers. Oh, it hurts—a slow, aching burn, though, and that’s  _fine_. He sort of likes it, especially with how slick and hot everything is, and his lips part with a gasping breath before he bites into Sinbad’s shoulder to muffle his next, desperate little sounds. “P… put it in me already, then,” Judal begs. Sinbad’s cock is  _so_  much more than those fingers, but he doesn’t care. The idea of it makes his cock that much harder, makes him that much more  _eager_ , and god, it _hurts_ , wanting this much. 

“Just a minute. I—slow down, I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s hard to think of things like whether or not he’d hurt the boy when he’s this hard, this aching, rubbing forward against Judal’s cock, both of them slick and hard and heavy as he slides in another finger, spreading and twisting. Judal is  _tight_  around his hand, but the way he wiggles and begs is…if he weren’t so young, so shamelessly innocent, Sinbad would have to call it _wanton_.

Judal’s lips tremble, his mouth falling open with a wordless, gasping moan, and he sags into Sinbad’s chest, hips jerking down helplessly onto Sinbad’s hand. It’s too much. It doesn’t matter how he spreads his legs or wriggles or shifts, it’s  _too much_ , pricking tears to his eyes and making him swallow hard, whining and whimpering at the stretch. He’s _never_  felt so full. Never, and he knows there’s even more  _still_. “I…” He can’t think. He can’t even form the words right. “I c-can’t… wait much longer.” His hips twitch forward, groaning at the slide of his cock against Sinbad’s. He’s leaking, dripping no matter how he’s come before, and that hurts even more, being so over-sensitive and yet  _needing_  to come again. 

Carefully, Sinbad pulls his fingers out, closing his hands around Judal’s waist and holding him away, just for a few seconds until he catches his breath. Then, he slicks his cock, hissing a little just at the touch of his own hand. The thought comes to him that next time he could have Judal do it, tell him to make him nice and slick and ready to fuck him with those soft hands, and that’s really  _not_  a mental image he needs when he’s trying to maintain control. 

“Like this,” he says, turning the boy onto his hands and knees. “It’s easier this way. Next time I’ll throw you down on your back, but…”

He ruts forward, rubbing the slick head down until it catches on Judal’s hole, aching and leaking at the  _idea_ , never mind the heat of the boy. “Take a deep breath.”

Judal pants into the sheets, burying his face into his own arms as he trembles, toes curling just at the rub and slide of Sinbad’s cock against him. He can’t even  _think_  of breathing normally, let alone deeply and slowly, but he tries, really does, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath that makes him that much more aware of how hard Sinbad is behind him, how  _big_  he is—

And how much he wants it.

“ _Please_.” It’s definitely a whine now, high and needy and shamelessly wanting.

There are some things that are beyond a man. Saying no to Judal is one of those for Sinbad.

As slow as he can (not slow enough), Sinbad sinks in, gritting his teeth at the  _squeeze_  of it, lurching forward, pressing a mindless, sloppy kiss between his shoulderblades as his hands tighten on Judal’s hips.  _Steady_ , he tries to tell himself, but it’s hard when he’s so damnably worked up, when he’s twitching and aching and groaning with every slick inch he stuffs inside the boy, urging his knees wider apart on the bed. “ _God_ ,” he groans, forehead pressing down against Judal’s spine.

He can’t breathe.

He absolutely  _can’t_ , not with how full he is. Judal twists, squirms,  _tries_  to hold still, tries to be good, but it’s so much that he doesn’t think his legs will  _ever_  be able to close, so much that he can feel himself being spread open, feel the cheeks of his ass pushed apart, even, and that makes him flush hotter still as he buries his face into the sheets and bites down to stifle his whimpering little moans. It  _feels_  even bigger than it looks. Hard shudders sweep down his spine, and after a few moments he just gives up, sobbing into the bed as Sinbad’s cock stuffs its way inside. 

Going slow, just for a few strokes, is the hardest thing Sinbad has ever done. It takes everything he has not to just  _lose_   _himself_ , and it only lasts a minute anyway, slow deep breaths where he runs his hands over Judal’s chest, rubbing and tugging at his nipples, one hand trailing down to cup his cock, stroking it to full hardness as he slides in deep and long. “Want you to love it,” he grunts, the next thrust a little faster, a little harder, the next one even more so. “Want you to—want it—every day—”

He wants Judal to  _crave_  that fulness, that ache, the impossible stretch of Sinbad’s hard, thick cock inside him, because there’s nothing Sinbad wants more than to fuck him through the mattress every damn day from now on.

Judal’s mouth falls open at that first long, hard  _thrust_  inside of him, and each one after that just makes him whimper, biting down into the sheets as his hands flex helplessly into them.  _Can’t can’t can’t too much too big oh_ god _that feels good_ —there are a dozen things that he wants to say, wants to beg for, but none of it matters when Sinbad is so  _deep_ inside of him, and there’s nothing else he can think about.

It gets easier—a little, at least, when he figures out how to breathe again and sucks in a deep breath each time he presses his hips back.  _That_ feels good, leaves him shuddering and clinging to the sheets all the more, and he nods without thinking, wriggling back no matter how he trembles. “Want it,” he rasps out, and oh, god, Sinbad pushes so deep that it makes his eyes nearly cross. “It’s good—I—” 

There’s nothing Sinbad lives for more than fucking someone who  _loves_ being fucked. With the way Judal is clenching, trembling, wriggling around his cock, Sinbad has no doubt that Judal is someone just like that.

It’s hard, impossible to hold back, and Sinbad lunges forward with a hard, breathless grunt, hips slapping forward in a tight staccato rhythm as his world narrows to sweet firm flesh under his hands, high breathy moans, and the tight clench of Judal’s ass around him. Nothing else matters, nothing at  _all_ , save for how good it feels and how much  _more_ he wants.

It’s too much. Far, far too much, and there’s nothing Judal can do but sag helplessly into the bed, his body a twitching, squirming thing, all on its own accord. He can’t  _help_  the way that he rides back onto Sinbad’s cock, no more than he can help the sobbing, hiccuping moans that pull from his throat, and he feels soaked through, sweat beading on his forehead and tears streaming down his face as he gasps and whimpers and  _begs_  somewhere in-between ragged breaths. 

He can’t stand it.

It  _hurts_  because it’s too much, but what hurts more is how hard is cock is, how he’s shaking too hard to touch himself, how he doesn’t even _need to_ , he realizes, when he just thinks about how spread open he is, how much of Sinbad is inside of him. It doesn’t take long before he’s writhing and bucking and sobbing harder still into the bed, coming so hard that his vision blurs, his muscles feel like they’re melting out from underneath him, and his world spins as Judal can no longer  _think_. 

Sinbad doesn’t want to know what kind of noise he lets out, low and long and bestial, biting down on Judal’s shoulder as his hips snap up _too hard too deep too much_ , knowing he’s got to be hurting the boy and unable to  _stop_  as he comes, spilling deep inside with a long, hard shudder.

He’s a boneless, pathetic thing, panting harsh breaths out against Judal’s back, blinking slowly at finding himself lying on top of the boy. He doesn’t even remember sagging down to the bed, but apparently he had, and now his face is buried in long, thick braided hair. He pants for breath, slowly disentangling himself to lie behind Judal, spooning up against him. “Was that,” he asks, gulping for air, “everything you wanted?”

Judal is sure that he passes out for a moment, and when he comes to, everything is a shivery, achy mess, inside and out. He moans, tilting his head back to rub against Sinbad, a mindless little whimper escaping his throat. “Really good.” He  _thinks_  Sinbad asked something about if it was good or not. He can’t really remember, but oh, god, by the way his nerves are singing, it was good. It was everything he’d been thinking of for weeks now. “Can’t think,” he adds after a moment of ragged little breaths. “Just… really good.”

Sinbad presses a kiss to Judal’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the boy, slowly stroking down his arms and sides as he shivers. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you too much?” It’s too much to ask for that he hadn’t hurt Judal at all. At least he hopes it was manageable.

“It’s…” How to explain, when his mind is so fuzzy, and the bed is so warm and Sinbad is really warm and ahh, he’s sleepy. “Not really hurt-y,” Judal mumbles, his head flopping back down as his eyes flutter shut. “Feels weird. All achy and everything… and my legs feel all wobbly…”

“Mmm.” That sounds like something that will hurt in the morning, but they can afford to waste some time here so he can pamper the boy. “Just make sure you tell Ja’far it was your idea. I don’t want him to cut my cock off.”

 _That_  wakes him up, and Judal lifts his head, staring back at Sinbad. “Why would he do that? I’ll bite him.”

Sinbad shrugs. “I just have a feeling that he heard us.” It’s a fairly sound feeling, given that Ja’far has been known to wake up when a fly landed on  _Sinbad_. “And that he would say I’m a terrible molesting lecherous kiddie-diddler. And he has very sharp knives.”

“I tried to be quiet.” It’s petulant, sort of, though Judal doesn’t have the strength to really whine. He flops back down with a huff. “I’ll still bite him. He’s not allowed to hurt you, I pestered you until you gave in.” He wavers at that thought, suddenly worried. “…  _You_  liked it, though, right? And we can do it again?”

“Yes,” Sinbad says immediately, probably faster than he should. “That was…beyond good.” And if Ja’far leaves him in one piece… “And we can  _definitely_  do it again. There’s still a lot more I want to do with you.” In for a draught, in for a queen.

“Oh, good,” Judal sighs, and he relaxes immediately, snuggling carefully back against Sinbad. “Maybe tomorrow. After I sleep. And eat a lot of things.” 

The next morning, Ja’far contemplates murder.

He waits until Sinbad starts to rouse from his  _peaceful slumber_ , the disgusting lecher. It’s more for the child’s benefit than Sinbad’s, at any rate, that he lingers by the door,  _watching_  until Sinbad rolls away and starts to get out of bed on his own. 

“So,” he says suddenly, well aware that he’s been blending with the wall and it’s nice, sometimes, to scare the ever living daylights out of Sinbad by doing that, “have a good night?” 

About to creep to the bathroom, Sinbad misses his step with the sudden sound, going down to the floor in a twisted heap of limbs and a yelp. He straightens as quickly as he can and ah, it would be bad form to literally run away, wouldn’t it?

Wait, no, he’d done nothing wrong. He has to  _remember_  that. “I did nothing wrong,” he says by way of a perfunctory protest, as if there isn’t a far-too-young boy in his bed. “I—that is—ah—did you…yes I had a good night, did you sleep well?”

Surely only a king could be so smooth.

“No.”

Sinbad is lucky that he  _is_  so sleep-deprived, because normally, Ja’far would have enjoyed slinking up fast enough to shove his foot down into the man’s chest and  _hold him to the ground_. “You were noisy.” His eyes narrow. “ _Judal_  was noisy.” 

Sinbad straightens up, smiling in what he hopes is a charmingly disarming manner, possibly managing ‘pathetic wastrel’. “Sorry about that, I, ah…look, I wasn’t expecting it, all right? It was his idea.”

“He’s  _twelve!_ ” Ja’far lurches forward as he somehow manages to keep his voice to a hushed, hissing thing, and he grabs Sinbad by the shoulders to give him a firm shake. “Are you completely dense?! He’s a child, what were you  _thinking?_ ”

Somewhere in the midst of things, Judal  _does_  end up waking, and it’s an odd thing, feeling so wobbly and unsteady still. He settles for a slow roll to the side of the bed instead of sitting up entirely, and one roll too far lands him on the floor with a solid  _thump_ , thoroughly tangled up in blankets. 

Huh. Standing is still weird. 

He pouts, and slowly inches his way forward, wriggling across the floor and drawing his knees up behind himself to scoot along. He probably looks like a caterpillar. Or a worm. Something. “Siiiinbad,” he whines when he reaches the man’s legs, and he tilts his head to promptly bite one ankle. 

“I—” All right, he hadn’t really been  _thinking_  so much as he had been feeling and reacting, but Sinbad is pretty sure he’d had reasons, and _good_  ones. If only he could remember what they were…

A dull scrape of pain flares on his ankle, and Sinbad slowly looks down. Somehow, Judal seems to have lost the use of his arms and legs— _hell, I couldn’t have been that rough_ —and has rolled or inched his way forward enough to start gnawing on his ankle. Weird kid.

Sinbad fakes a smile, heart sinking as he bends down to lift the boy. “Why aren’t you walking?” he asks, hoping Judal will get the unsubtle hint. “ _Ja’far_  is going to think it’s  _strange_.”

Judal’s pout deepens, and he promptly snuggles his way into Sinbad’s hold, no matter how his legs still feel all sorts of weird and wobbly. “My legs don’t wanna work,” he huffs, and butts his head against Sinbad’s shoulder. “Just carry me.”

Ja’far’s stare is unrelenting. 

A cold sweat rolls in across Sinbad’s brow, even as he shifts his weight to hold the boy more comfortably. “Look, it’s not like I—he jumped  _me_ , I was perfectly happy with the who—the girls,” he amends, darting a glance at Judal.  _Come on, kid, back me up_ , he thinks desperately. “It’s not like I  _hurt_  him…on purpose…”

“It doesn’t  _hurt,_ ” Judal protests, flopping limply across Sinbad’s arms to let his head loll back, his braid dangling nearly to the floor. “Just feels weird and my legs are all… woogly.”

“Woogly,” Ja’far deadpans.

“Uh huh. But it was good, though. I’m sorry if I was loud, I tried to be quiet, but—”

“Things I don’t need to know and are not appropriate for normal conversation.”

Judal pouts. “But it was good, and you shouldn’t be mad! I bothered him until he did it.” 

On second thought, Sinbad isn’t so sure having Judal stick up for him was the best idea at all. 

He gets a hand under Judal’s head, raising him up and burying it in Sinbad’s shoulder. “It’s  _not_  that bad. He knew what he was asking for—hell, I was younger than him my first time, and if he were a girl he’d have popped out a brat of his own by now.” The argument holds slightly less weight when Judal is squirming like a little worm in his arms, but he soldiers on. “I’m not that kind of lecher, you  _know_  that.”

“You can’t be mad at him,” Judal adds as he twists his head away to unmuffle his voice. “If you’re mad, he won’t do it again.”

“… I’m going to go get us breakfast.” It’s wise,  _very_  wise, to just step away for now, lest he string up Sinbad from the ceiling and contemplate his castration. 

“He’s mad,” Sinbad mutters under his breath, sinking down to the bed in frustration. He’d thought he’d contemplated the outcome last night, but he hadn’t, not really. He hadn’t really thought about what it would be like to see that disappointment, that disgust in his dearest friend’s face, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Whyyy?” Judal grumbles, flopping himself out again with a sigh. “I told him it was good, he shouldn’t be upset.” 

 _Because he doesn’t like it when I give him a reason to think I’m trash._ “Stay here. I’ll be back.” Sinbad lurches to his feet, taking off after Ja’far. The safety of his balls aside, he’s got to at least  _talk_  to the younger man.

“You should be taking care of your pet, not chasing after me,” Ja’far flatly tosses over his shoulder as he tugs his cloak properly around his shoulders, not sparing Sinbad a glance when he hears him coming.

For some reason, the sight of Ja’far pulling the cloak up strikes fear into Sinbad’s heart. It looks too much like he’s  _leaving_ , and Sinbad walks faster, catching his elbow. “Don’t—just  _listen_  to me damn it, I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Exhale. Inhale.  _Don’t stab him between the eyes, it’s not becoming._ Ja’far blinks up at him impassively as he turns to dislodge his elbow. “You didn’t believe me when I told you he was acting inappropriately towards you, and then this happens.”

“It’s not like I  _planned_  it—yes, okay, you were right,” Sinbad concedes, holding up his hands. “Yes, he wasn’t as innocent as I thought, but—but that’s just the point! He’s a lot less innocent than I thought, you know? He knew exactly what he was asking for.”

“He’s  _twelve_.” Ja’far stares at him. “He’s still a child.” 

“I—” Sinbad breaks off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I know! I tried to stop him, I just…he looked so  _sad_ , telling me he didn’t want girls, he wants me to shove him into things and…”

He leans back against a stone wall, annoyed with himself, annoyed with Ja’far for not  _understanding_ , annoyed more with himself for not being able to make Ja’far understand. Quietly, almost forlornly, he says again, “I didn’t hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him.”  _I’m just awful at saying no to things I want._

“You’re really awful at self-control.” 

Ja’far heaves a sigh, tugging his cloak tighter about himself once more with a shake of his head. “Sin. I’m not an idiot. I can see he isn’t hurt and that you meant him no harm, but you should still think of the consequences. He’s going to be even  _more_  attached to you now, you know. What are you going to do about that?”

Sinbad nearly sags to the ground in relief. That, at least, doesn’t sound like Ja’far is leaving him behind. “I…” He shrugs. “How much more attached can he get? He already rides on my back most of the time when we walk and throws tantrums if I leave him behind.”

“… The kind of attached that gets jealous when you go out looking for a woman or three, perhaps?” 

“Which he already had,” Sinbad points out. “The second I got in he started whining at me about how he doesn’t want me to go out, he wants to, uh, play with me instead.” His face grows hotter with the last words, and he ends on a mumble.

Ah. Back to staring. “… You really are an insufferable pervert.”

Helplessly, Sinbad raises his hands. Now is not the time to ask Ja’far if he knows of a good place to get Judal’s nipples pierced, probably. “I never denied  _that_.”

“Just…” Ja’far sighs, shaking his head. “Be  _careful_  with him, if you are going to insist on this sort of relationship?”

Sinbad folds his arms, a little cold, a little sick, a little sad. “I want to be careful with him,” he says quietly, looking down. “I…I’m not the most careful of people. But…” He exhales hard, raking his hair back. “He’s not  _that_  young, is he? He’s bigger than you. When I first bedded you, I didn’t mess you up too much, did I?”

Ja’far tries very hard not to roll his eyes. “No, though I daresay our first experience was not nearly as  _satisfying_  as the one I overheard last night. Honestly, it’s less the physical part of it and more the emotional that I’m concerned of—he’s  _infatuated_  with you already.” 

“Maybe he’ll grow out of it.” Sinbad shrugs. “Maybe he’ll get tired of me. You always seem perfectly able to shove me out of bed.” The longer they talk, the more sure he is that Ja’far doesn’t hate him, isn’t leaving him, and that relief is so palpable he can feel something unclench in his chest. “I can’t make him  _stop_  being infatuated with me, whether I touch him or not.”

“He’s already jealous of your girls,” Ja’far points out. “It’ll only get worse.”

“I’ll deal with it.” Later. When it happens. No reason to deal with anything before it happens, that way madness lies, probably. He steps forward, raising an eyebrow. “I never asked. Do  _you_  get jealous of my girls?”

A scoff promptly follows. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“You couldn’t pretend?” Sinbad asks hopefully. “Just a  _little_  jealous, one of these days?”

“But I’m  _not_.” Ja’far stares up at him, perplexed. “Why does it matter, anyway? I’m in your bed when I want to be—no more, no less. In the meantime, you’re entertained and not obnoxiously pawing at me.” 

Sinbad decides, in the interest of diplomacy, to let the comment about _obnoxiously pawing_  go. “Normal men liked to be missed when they’re not around. It’s nice to be wanted.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t miss you.” A bit of color rises to his face, and Ja’far turns away again with a snort. “Just that I’m not  _jealous_. I don’t mind it. It serves a purpose, though I do wish you would use your time more wisely, all the same.”

Any other day, Sinbad would push his luck, entranced by that shy little blush. Today, it’s enough just to hear the words. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Look, just…if you’re upset, take it out on me, don’t bother the boy about it. He’s probably stressing himself into a ball right now thinking you hate us.”

“I—”

A loud  _thump_  interrupts whatever reply Ja’far thought of, followed by the tell-tale scrape and scoot of limbs and blanket across the floor. “Siiiiin, I don’t  _wanna_  be a worm!”

“Yes, he sounds terribly stressed,” Ja’far deadpans.

Sinbad can’t help but laugh, opening the door and hefting the boy up into his arms. “Here, grab me and be a monkey instead,” he suggests. “Then we can go get something to eat.”

Judal huffs, flopping his arms around Sinbad’s shoulders in defeat. “ _Fine_. I’m prettier than that, too, though.”

“You’re prettier than a worm too,” Sinbad says with a grin, tweaking Judal’s nose. “And either way you don’t have to walk. Ja’far? Are you hungry?”

“At least worms turn into butterflies sometimes!”

“That’s caterpillars,” Ja’far corrects on a sigh. “And I was going to go to the market and bring something back, you two should stay and get cleaned up.” He decides not to mention how Judal looks like he was eaten alive.

Ah. Cleaned up. A quick glance at Judal brings the guilt back, especially seeing the rather distinctive marks on the boy’s neck. “Ah…maybe that would be a better idea. Do worms like baths, Judal?”

Judal peers up at him through his bangs. “If they get to take them with you.”

Right. He’s going now. “I’ll be back,” Ja’far dryly offers, heading to the door.

“Bring some of those sticky peach buns,” Sinbad calls, now more than a little of his brain occupied with the idea of taking a bath with Judal. “Uh…bring a  _lot_.”

 _I know how much he eats, probably better than you._  Better not to deign it with a response, honestly, and so Ja’far simply shuts the door behind himself without a word.

 


End file.
